


Laments of the Undead

by scroomslayer



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, egil is a dick, emetophobia tw, eyo egil suck my cock, fdk is called casper in this, non-verbal fdk, paul and patryck are tord's dads, red army shit, same with you random voice in tords head, suicidal thoughts tw, tord has schizophrenia, tord has the best dads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scroomslayer/pseuds/scroomslayer
Summary: in which it’s after the end and tord has schizophrenia(this ties in with a fanfic i havent even started yet why the fuck am i making this)
Relationships: Patryck/Paul (Eddsworld)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. no apology

Tord ran his fingers through his unkempt, tousled hair. The side that wasn’t bound down by bandages (not including his sensitive right hair horn) was dried with dark blood. It had lost its usual softness and turned coarse and rough. It was becoming thin and brittle following the Dirdum incident. A few hairs fell out, falling to the ground slowly like feathers.

Tord glanced around the room with his working eye. It was dull and grey, and the cold stone walls were splotched with patches of filth. The floor was the same as the wall, material and everything. The bed wasn’t even that comfortable; the sheets were scratchy and the feeling of the loose springs in the mattress was glaringly obvious. There was no pillow whatsoever, the same case being with the entire bed frame. It was just a mattress and a blanket on the floor.

There was a window, and it looked relatively normal, other than the filth from the walls and floor being on it. There were also a few cracks in it, one being from a gunshot. The view was still perceivable, albeit slightly obscured. Tord, hunched up at the corner of the mattress, gazed through the singular window in the room. Tall, sturdy trees stood against the blazing light of the sun. Tord almost felt like he was in a prison in the middle of nowhere.

In fact, he kind of was. Tord felt that this was the most dreadful experience of his life. Having your own role of leadership within the Red Army be pending because of an injury that may make one be unsuitable as a leader was no pleasant experience. It filled Tord with an odd anxiety he felt that he’d been trying to repress for years.

That’s when the voice came around again. That shrill, ear-grating voice that made Tord want to tear his eardrums out. Not only did the voice itself fill him with a pungent feeling of loathing, but the words that it spat did as well. Like acid into his brain, that scarred and stayed there forever. Every word, even the small ones, every single one...Tord could recall.

**_“How do you feel now that you’ve done that? Did it feel good? Did it feel bad? Everyone knows. Everyone was told. They’re not going to let you stay.”_ **

“Get out of my head,” Tord muttered.

_**“No apology, Tord. They will let you have no apology. No apology. You cannot apologize. No apology.”** _

Tord’s heart turned to stone, and sank in his chest like a fishing weight in a murky lake. “Get out of my head!”

**_“NO APOLOGY! NO APOLOGY! NO APOLOGY! They won’t apologize for what they’re going to do to you, Tord! No apology, Tord! NO APOLOGY!”_ **

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Tord shrieked sullenly. Tears welled up in the eye that functioned, and he made no effort to suppress them as they rolled down his face.

**_“Oh, look! You’re crying now! Can you not handle two simple words? Or are you too weak? This is why they aren’t going to let you stay here. This is why they won’t let you live. Because you can’t keep any emotions in anymore. All because of some friends that will never love you like they used to because of something YOU did? No apology. NO. APOLOGY.”_ **

And then the voice began to cackle in an echoed, distorted way. It filled the room and Tord’s ears and mind, just as the tears in his eyes did. Tord sobbed uncontrollably, in fury and in despair. The laughs only got louder, and more mocking. Tord clenched his teeth. It was painful, so painful, so agonizing to hear it. Then, his mouth twisted into a grin. He threw back his head, still crying and sobbing, and began to laugh with the voice.

Tord flopped down onto the bristly mattress limply, like a ragdoll. “...no apology.”

**_“That’s right, Tord! No apology! Your new enemies won’t apologize to you for what they did. Your parents won’t apologize to you for bringing you here. Even if it is their fault, you will be getting no apology.”_ **

“No apology,” Tord mumbled. And then, more clearly, he uttered, “NO APOLOGY.”

Suddenly, a click sounded, and the door slowly creaked open. The voice vanished completely, but Tord felt no relief, no pleasure. He only thought of those two words.

“...is everything alright?” Tord knew that tender voice anywhere. It was Patryck, one of his fathers. “I heard you screaming while I was taking a stroll around here. With Egil in the lead, there’s been far less war, so uh, yeah, I have a bit more freetime, y’know?”

Tord was still for a bit, and then picked himself up. He stared at the wall, chortling softly, hot tears still running down his face. He then turned his head to Patryck, sneering so widely that it ached.

“It won’t get out of my head,” Tord squeaked through chuckling and whimpering.

“My, I’m sorry if this sounds intrusive, but...what won’t?” Patryck asked. “The events that have occurred prior to this? That won’t get out of my head either, my dear.”

Tord gently placed his left arm on his knees, and covered his face with it. “No. The voice won’t get out of my head.”

“...a voice?” Patryck sounded concerned. “A voice in your head? My, you...you never told me about any voices.”

Tord pulled his arm away from his face, and pointed towards the door. “LEAVE.”

“...dear....dear, we need to talk.” Now Patryck sounded somber, as if he knew something Tord didn’t. And he probably did.

“No, we don’t need to talk. Now GO.” Tord pointed at the doorway even firmer than before.

All Tord heard was the door shutting, and a sorrowful sigh. Tord lowered his hand and looked up at Patryck, who was standing still near the door.

“Go away!” Tord whined like a hormonal teenager. “What do you even want to talk about?!”

Patryck walked over to the mattress and sat down next to Tord. Before Tord could complain, Patryck grabbed him by the waist and drew him into a hug, stroking his blood-encrusted hair lovingly. He rested his chin on the top of Tord’s head as Tord began to let quaking breaths out into his father’s chest. Tord gently closed his eyes, and started crying again.

“That’s it, dear,” Patryck cooed as his son began to weep audibly. “Don’t be scared to cry. Crying can be good.”

Tord didn’t object. He was too worried that the voice would come back to mock him for crying. But his father’s embrace...Patryck’s pure, unfiltered, unconditional love for him...it just made it hard for Tord to be worried about that anymore. He felt a tug at the bandages on his face, and a few of them fell loose.

“Your injury looks like it’s healed quite a bit,” Patryck said. “The bandages around your arm need to stay for now, but the ones on your face can come off. Try to stay safe with the wounds, though, okay?”

Tord nodded weakly as Patryck began to unravel the bandages from his face. The right hair horn, which was somewhat lopsided, stuck up straight with the left one once they were unraveled. Patryck lightly prodded at the hair horn with his finger, and then gently dragged his fingers down his son’s spine. He then patted his back comfortingly.

“How long has this been going on, dear?” Patryck asked. “Y’know, the whole voice thing.”

Tord looked off to the side. “I-it...it’s been too long. It’s all just...a blur now.”

Patryck pulled Tord in a little closer. “My dear...what does it say?”

Instinctively, Tord elbowed his father in the stomach with the arm that wasn’t completely lame. Patryck doubled over in anguish, groaning. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out, and then snapped his jaw shut.

“If I told you, it would come back!” Tord snarled. “They’d start talking again. Just start...saying things. Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don’t. That’s all you need to know. Now GO.”

“Argh....” Patryck croaked, and then he looked up at Tord. “I...I’m sorry, I just...I’d just like to understand more about this so that I can help you through this. I have no idea what you have. I’ve never talked to anyone with a case like yours before. It’s just...very new to me.”

Tord was dead silent, refusing to say a word. He gazed back out at the window, where the sun was beginning to set, turning the sky deep shades of orange and purple. The blue was still present, but far less prominent than it was before. Then, Tord turned his back to his father, and began gazing at the dirt-covered wall. Tord inhaled, and then let out a quivering sigh.

“I truly hope I didn’t trigger the voice again, dear,” Patryck murmured.

Tord clasped and raised his lame arm, looking at the blood-stained bandages, and muttered, “Who am I?”

“...what?” Patryck replied in confusion.

“I’m lost. Gone.” Tord smiled softly. “I’m dead.”


	2. the innocents take action, the liars take notice

Tord had nearly drifted off to sleep in the long, drifting hours of the night. It was dark, and there weren’t many stars out. The thick, inky layers of fog clouds could have been covering them up. In the deep night sky hung a hazy half-moon, which shone its cold light upon the land and dew-splashed grass. The sound of his door creaking open was what jolted him awake, and even then he was still half-asleep.

“What the hell do you want?” Tord barked.

“It’s me, Yuu,” a small, silvery, and somewhat low voice said. “Red Leader wants you.”

Tord’s left eye widened. His fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists. At this point, he was wide awake. “...Red Leader? Is that the cute little fucking name you’re calling him now?”

“Oh, I- just- uh...Egil meant to tell you that when you got there...” Yuu’s voice trailed off in shame. “W-would you not like me to call h-him that o-or s-s-something?”

Tord’s muscles tensed up, and he began to hyperventilate. “H-he said that m-my r-role w-would be p-pending for a f-few d-d-days...th-that-”

“Wait, what…?” another voice mumbled. It was Yanov. “Egil never said anything about your leadership being decided, he just said that you’d decided to step down from it.”

As soon as Tord heard that, the hyperventilating got worse. Tord shut his eye tightly as he let out shaky, quaking heaves. Saltwater billowed in his shut eye, which was a feeling he had gotten used to. Tord then shut his mouth, still hyperventilating, albeit muffled. His throat tightened, and it felt like his stomach and intestines twisted around each other, forming knots and tangles. He felt like he would throw up, even if he had eaten little that day.

“THAT FUCKING TRAITOR! I’M GOING TO FUCKING MURDER HIM!” Tord screamed as he got up, throwing back his head. Tears spilled out of his eye and ran down his face. “THAT SON OF A BITCH DUMPS ME IN A GODDAMN PRISON CELL IN THE MIDDLE OF A FOREST AND RUNS OFF TO CLAIM MY LEADERSHIP! He said that all he was doing was leading the Red Army for me while they decided if I was still fit for the role of Red Leader, but NOOOOOOO! THAT FUCKING LIAR!”

Yuu began to hyperventilate, too. “T-Tord...T-T-Tord, I-I-I’m s-s-s-so-orr-r-ry-”

“OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Tord retorted, pain in his voice. Tord clawed at the mattress, sobbing violently and uncontrollably. Then, his legs and arm buckled, and he collapsed onto the clawed-up mattress, dampening it with hot tears. He clenched his teeth, choking back frenzied wails. His body heaved with each repressed, shaky sigh and gasp. His stomach lurched.

Looking up from the mattress, trembling and shivering, he found himself staring at Egil, who was looming above him, staring straight back. On his face was a wide, devious grin.

**_“They don’t love you anymore, and they never did,”_** he whispered. _**“I’m doing this job way better than you were, and way better than you ever will.”**_

Tord buried his head into the mattress again, his insides reeling. “I-I HATE YOU...I-I-I WISH Y-YOU WERE DEAD!”

Egil leaned in closer, and pressed his hand on the back of Tord’s neck. **_“Oh, Tord...when did you expect that others would love you?”_**

Tord whipped himself up onto his knees, and let out a shrill, ear-splitting caterwaul that ripped through the cold room. A sudden sharp wave of agony flared up throughout his body, and Tord doubled over in pain, jaw still hung open, but without the screaming. He began to retch violently as he felt a thick liquid climb up through his throat, and he didn’t even try to turn away when it rushed to his mouth. He spewed it out like an erupting volcano, all over the mattress and floor and on his clothing, pretty much everywhere. He despised the acidic taste of it, and the scent was even worse, but he hated so many other things that he couldn’t focus on that. Tord heard someone, probably Yanov, gag in disgust.

As he brought himself back together, he noticed that Egil wasn’t doing anything. Not laughing, not showing any signs of repulsion...in fact, he wasn’t even there. With that, he came to a horrifying realization; he had actually hallucinated him. Eye wide, jaw halfway-open-halfway-closed, he rose to his feet, trembling. He took his left hand and gripped his lame arm, holding it against his side.

“I’m going,” Tord slurred, refusing to make eye contact as he stared at the floor. “Just...just leave. Go.”

With a gingerly expression, Yuu nodded, and walked away from the cellar with Yanov, who was still visibly nauseated. Tord was sweating because of exhaustion, but also because he had started to feel unhealthily warm. He had a pounding headache and he was tired, so tired. But he wouldn’t sleep. He was restless, relentless, and he was absolutely furious, but also incredibly hurt. As soon as he knew that Yuu and Yanov were completely gone, he stumbled out of the room deliriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aAAaaAAAAaaAAA sorry the chapters short but the next ones gonna be lonk. i promise yall.


	3. but no one was really home, it was just you and four shredded photos of people you once knew

“OH MY GOODNESS! Dear, you look so sick!” Patryck exclaimed as soon as he caught sight of Tord. “And is that vomit all over your shirt? Dear, come in, please!”

No matter how much Tord tried to deny it, he knew Patryck was right. Tord WAS really sick, and in more ways than one. He could hardly stand up with his quivering legs. In fact, his whole body was shuddering. He desperately gripped onto the doorframe in an effort to not collapse, but the grip was loose and he could hardly trust that it would hold him up much longer. He ached all over, especially near his joints and wounds.

“I don’t fuckin’ need help…” Tord mumbled, the words sloshing together. They were almost incoherent. “I need...just...I need...fuck.”

“Dear, please don’t cuss when your younger siblings are nearby,” Patryck adjured, concerned. Tord’s younger brothers, Casper and Sol, stood in the distance, staring at their distraught older brother. “Just come in and get some rest, okay? You...you need it, dear.”

Tord could hardly think straight. He could feel the voice coming back, creeping around within his mind. “Gh...fine...just shut the fuck up…”

Patryck squeezed Tord’s left hand tightly, and led him into his small house. It was rather familiar...after all, Tord had spent 20 years of his life living in it, but yet at the same time, it felt so...different. So...out of place. But that was to be expected. Pretty much any memories Tord had were muddled and unintelligible smudges of what they once were. He knew they would come back with time, but he didn’t care. He felt like he didn’t need his memories.

“Sit here, dear.” Patryck gestured towards the couch in the living room. “I’ll go retrieve some new clothes.”

Tord looked at the couch, and without a second thought, staggered over to it. He collapsed onto the plump cushions, panting and sweating and absolutely unable to utter another word without some sort of motivation, like anger or something. His lame arm hung down from the side of the couch, lightly touching the wooden floor. The floorboards creaked as Patryck ran away frantically. Tord shut his eyes, and groaned. He was pretty much done with everything for the night. But he needed to kill Egil. He HAD to. He…

_**“Can you believe someone would do something so terrible to you, Tord? But don’t think he’s in the wrong, because in the end, you know you deserve it.”** _

The voice came back.

“No...no I…” Tord croaked. “Shut the fuck up…”

_**“You’ll never be Red Leader again. You don’t deserve that title. You deserve to DIE. You know you want to. Slowly and painfully...bleeding out on the ground...with no one else out there to care about you or save you...no one loves you, Tord. You know that, right? No one loves you now and no one will ever love you! No one even loved you in the first place! They all lied, Tord. And you know what? They’re still lying to you.”** _

Tord couldn’t bring himself to speak anymore. His throat was tight and hurt like hell, and his head was throbbing and blood was pounding in his ears deafeningly. So instead, he began to whimper like a scared dog. He couldn’t control it. It was something that just happened. If he could control it, he wouldn’t do it in the first place.

The floorboards began to creak again, most definitely being Patryck. The creaking got louder, and Tord felt a tap on the back of his neck.

“...dear, everything will be fine,” Patryck cooed, his voice tender and soft. “Don’t you worry, dear.”

“STOP CALLING ME DEAR!” Tord retorted as he got up, his words still slurred. He sounded intoxicated. Tears streamed down his face as he swatted at Patryck.

Patryck’s bedroom door opened, and Tord was greeted with the sight of Paul, his other father. He looked groggy, as if he had just gotten up. “Wait...wh-what’s going on here?”

“Tordie’s mad! And he’s really sick!” a small voice exclaimed in fear. It was Sol, who was fiddling with a toy car at the dining room table. “And he’s crying!”

Casper glared at Sol and signed “stop” repeatedly. He seemed mortified of his younger 6-year-old brother. Sol didn’t seem to understand. He didn’t really know much sign language, other than “yes” and “no.” Paul walked over to Tord, and exchanged glances with Patryck, who held a shirt and a pair of sweatpants close to his chest.

“He looks as sick as a dog,” Paul muttered. “...wait, holy shit, is that puke?”

Patryck nodded, and then realized what Paul had said. “Hey, wait! Don’t say that in front of Sol and Casper!”

Paul looked over to see Sol and Casper staring at Tord from the dining room. “Oh, didn’t realize they were right there. Well, fuck- wait, no.”

“...dear…” Patryck sighed in exasperation as he set the clothes down on the armrest of the couch.

“Just drag me to my fuckin’ room already…” Tord slurred. He buried his head in the couch cushion, sopping wet and stricken with fever. “Can’t fuckin’ walk…”

“Hush, Tord!” Patryck scolded. He, with some effort, picked up his 24-year-old son, who looked like he was dying. “I’ve already had to tell you this once. You know that Casper and Sol are in the room, and besides, you need to rest.”

“Yeah...yeah, ok…” Tord went limp in his father’s arms. 

The voice was screaming incoherent words in his head, but he was too weak to combat it, other than a few tears and sobs as Patryck carried him away, and even those were pretty weak, too. Patryck adjusted Tord’s position in order to open the door, his son’s chin resting on his shoulder. He slowly strolled over to the bed, and sat down on it, Tord still in his arms. He placed one of his hands on his son’s head, running his fingers through his hair. It was still rather messy, but there wasn’t as much dried blood in it. He began to hum a song that gave off a tender, nostalgic vibe. It was familiar. Very familiar.

Tord hated it.

But he couldn’t argue. He could barely even speak. No, scratch that, he  _ couldn’t _ speak. What was it that was sickening him so much? Why had he just fallen ill out of nowhere? Was he ever going to get a clear reason? The thought sickened him even more. He felt like he would throw up again, even if there was nothing left.

Tord was able to utter something with the last bit of energy he had, although it was hard to understand. “...no.”

Patryck stopped humming, and slowly removed his hand from his son’s hair. “...what, dear?”

“Go,” Tord croaked. “Leave.”

Patryck’s embracing grip softened, and he set Tord down onto the bed carefully. “Oh, sure, dear. I understand...you need rest.”

Tord almost bursted into an expletive-filled rant about how he didn’t need rest. And how he just wanted his father to stop calling him DEAR. God, how he’d grown to hate that word. But of course, he couldn’t. All he did was watch as Patryck left the room. He twitched ever so slightly as he felt himself fade in and out of consciousness, eyelids fluttering. The ones on the right side had been burnt out, and as a result they would forever be open, exposing a gaping hole to whoever laid eyes upon him. He let out one, final, shaky breath as he let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fHBRGDB sorry for the wait- some stuff happened in my personal life rip


End file.
